Re-View and Reflect

I was browsing through some of my favorite sites the other day, blogs and informational sites and the like, and one of the women I follow published her top three favorite posts from 2012. I liked this idea immediately; however, 2012 was not a banner year for me, and I was kinda glad to see it go.

I commented on her post that I was going to steal the idea for my own blog. And I am going to link to my favorite three posts, but they will be from ALLLLLLLL of my posts, ever. Five years' worth. Go big or go away, right?

I'm working on a new post, too, so don't think of this as a shirking of my regular musings; rather, think of it as being introduced to a side of me you might not know about, or maybe forgot about, or maybe you will see and you will fall in love with me all over again.  A celebration of sorts. 

*fingers crossed*

In no particular order, for your re-viewing (oh, and Happy New Year):

This one.

This one.

And this one.

Until next time, friends.

The Secrets We Keep

I love how that one curved branch is gathering the others in- a protective gesture of sorts.

Part I of III 

There are times throughout a person's life where everything gets to be too much; the confluence of work, family, partners, friends, and the Rest of Our Lives all seem to vie for the bulk of our attention, and we scramble to keep up and maintain. I'm sure that we've all experienced this in some form at least once, no?

Well, what happens to me when these stresses hammer down is that I take what's bothering me, what's going wrong, the words spoken and then winced at later, and hide them. And maybe these Secrets stay hidden forever, or maybe they get purged, but often they are just there and start to act like crabs in a bucket: crawling up on each other's backs to escape, but then pulling each other right back in at the last second: Oh, no. If I'M not getting out, neither are YOU. You stay right here and help make her miserable.

This summer has been less than stellar for me in terms of emptying my bucket. I've felt a constant low-level stress for quite some time, even having a mini breakdown not too long ago. That episode really made me step back and ask some hard questions of myself: What is true about you, Self? What makes you whole? What makes you happy? What do you need to Be Rachel everyday?

Heavy stuff. What's a girl to do?

Get away from it all? YES. A retreat of sorts? YES. A re-connection to the creative Self I once loved and nurtured? YES. 

And so I planned a solo camping trip for three days and nights. Me, a tent, a kayak, some art supplies, some running gear, a journal. My destination was Pete's Lake, a campground along Federal Forest Highway 13 in the Hiawatha National Forest; a favorite local trail- Bruno's Run- is adjacent, and there are lovely walk-in sites that are secluded enough to feel like you're really nowhere near anyone else. 

Secret #1: I didn't really tell anyone about this plan. Most people were...stunned to hear I was going camping. Alone. In a tent. And not the Public Chicago kind of tent, either. Ain't no Barney's or Nordstrom's where I was heading. 

Secret #2: I love the outdoors much more than I've ever let on. In my former life, the types of outdoor activities I enjoyed were not enjoyed by my wasband, and so my pursuits were few and far between.

Part of what I wanted to explore over those days was the things that made me feel complete, the things I enjoy. Many of these things I resisted for sooooo long, mostly because the identity prescribed to me was based on how I had been introduced to people for the past 15, 20, 40 years: Ed & Susan's daughter, Eric & Lisa's sister, Doug & Ann's daughter-in-law, D's wife, Emily & Sadie's mom. Never only "Rachel." That socially constructed identity was one that I clung to as a defense mechanism, it was a wall I had built up as a silent protest in reaction to my own unhappiness. But what made me happy? What made me ME?

And that's another Secret, isn't it? There's a good chance the person you present might not be who you really are. Those people you socialize with, those activities you participate in, those topics of conversation are really only niceties; you are being Polite. The juxtaposition and/or dichotomy of those things with your Self make day-to-day so much more difficult than need be. If only we could listen to Self without the static! If only the static could turn into our own voice of clarity, if it could turn into the broadcast of our Core! My retreat was my attempt to tune in, to return to Self, whatever- or whomever- that was. 

I did so much thinking. I thought a lot about secrets and how some things you want to remain secret: good news you're not ready to share, bad news you'd rather forget, sad news you don't want to revisit. No matter how happy or angry or sad you are, and no matter how much your friends promise to keep their mouths shut, some things are better kept to yourself. And sometimes you'll be questioned. And sometimes you'll cave. And other times- too many times, in my case- you'll be the Bigger Person, recognizing the subtle differences between privacy and deception when it comes to secrets.

I thought about how we link secrets to memory. Things like the smell of a lover on your skin, not washed off so you can continue to smile; the sadness of witnessing the life leave someone's body, the helplessness of seeing their vibrancy extinguished like that; the anguish of your own heart breaking for what you thought you had, or hoped could become with enough effort and time; and of course, the secret lives led by people you think you know- bruised egos and hurt feelings and "Well, I never thought"-s over and over again, surprising you even after so many years. All of these secrets we have and hold and use to create an identity for ourselves and others. And the shared secrets others use to create an identity for us! 

And so I had to examine my own Secrets and decide which would get dumped out and exposed, and which would be burned in the camp fire. The little wavelets while kayaking rocked a few out of me. My drawings were inspired as much by the natural surroundings as by the frustration and resistance in letting some go. The pine needles underfoot on Bruno's Run cushioned the honest blows to my ego. The camp fire did, indeed, burn a fair share. The rain and my shaken tears washed away many more. And yet some remain.

And so my retreat was underway, my reaffirmation or Return to Self was in motion. Step One was the honest evaluation of what I was holding on to, what secrets were keeping me stuck in limbo despite my best attempts at living in happiness. Do I feel better, closer to knowing and acknowledging my Self, my Core on a daily basis? YES. Do I defer to the need for the walls I've built up to come down? To the truth that keeping certain Secrets will hinder my ability to create intimacy with those I love? YES. 

What was next? Well friends, if Step One was surveying, then Step Two can best be described as demolition. Until that story is ready to share, I'll leave you with this:

I left a bit of my heart on the shores of Pete's Lake, that's no secret. 

Now or Never

For most people, the winter holidays are a time for introspection, memory, and nostalgia; for me, this congregation meets in the summertime. Summer's endless days- and the laziness with which the nights come- are prime breeding ground for me and my thoughts, my memories, my hopes and wishes. Sometimes a memory will come back at me like a blast of hot air from the oven; sometimes it just tickles my neck like a lover's breath.

Warm weather and it's winsome ways always have me thinking back in time; my fondest memories always feature the sun shining brightly, warming my skin, reflecting off my wide smile. July 4th has always been my favorite holiday (Hello? Sunshine and fireworks? No brainer.). I have Utopian childhood memories of endless days and still-light nights spent playing Ghost in the Graveyard or Kick the Can; running around the shores of Rawson's Lake and hearing Uncle Len sing and play the ukulele while everyone else fished and drank beer; picking raspberries and blackberries behind the school across from my grandparents' house.

When I moved to Michigan, I realized that summer started around July 1st and ended somewhere in the week immediately post-U.P. State Fair. New memories included running the Firecracker 5 Mile in Gladstone, followed by a marathon day of swimming, sunning, kayaking, eating, bonfires, fireworks and more.

Summer was also the start of fall marathon training runs with Doug. For many many years, we would take off from his house and run south on M-35, past Breezy Point Bar, past the Ford River bridge, a brief stop at Satch's house for pre-stashed Gatorade and snacks, then maybe a few more miles down the road before turning around and retracing our steps. Satch's house was 13 miles, Mayville Road about 16, No See-Um Creek was 21. Grandpa Herb was always waiting with coffee cake- lots of frosting, per my request- upon our return.

But I digress...it is during these times when my mind wanders from the present-day sun-dappled sidewalk either backwards or forwards in time, the direction dictated by the momentum of the "What if...?" at the front of my brain.

What if...I never moved to Chicago?...I didn't have babies when I did?...I never moved to Michigan?...I never started running?...I wasn't right there when Doug collapsed?...I never had my mental toughness and emotional strength tested like that?...I stayed in my poor excuse of a marriage?...Where would I be now?

We all have moments, memories that we say we "regret," our voices' tones quietly serious and rueful. Regret happens, but is it useful? Hmm...I don't think so. I've always been one to preach that you cannot change the past, you need to learn something from it and move on: evolve. To regret would be to negate the lessons learned- If: Then: - and who would you be then? Not the same person you are now, feeling sorry for yourself, feeling a loss for something that will never happen because the circumstance can't be recreated to make it so: you cannot make regrets materialize and transform into new memories to replace the old ones.

It can't happen. Stop wasting your time on this. Think about it this way: Why waste your time wishing your memories were something else when you could be busy creating new ones?

And so that's what I've willed myself to do: move on, evolve. And now the "What ifs" at the front of my brain are of this variety:

What if...I train for a triathlon?...I get my Master's degree?...I choose to be happy? Every day?...I tell my friends I love them before its too late?...I stop chasing and grasping and flailing and just BE?...I find New Mr. Rachel? How will that new adventure play out?

And I'm busy making new memories, every day. I tell people I love them more freely, and without reservations. I try new things with only minor trepidation. I'm okay with not getting it right the first time around. I'm planning vacations- currently in the hope/wish stage, but- and exploring options. I'm still a resident of Hopeful, Unincorporated when it comes to New Mr. Rachel. I'm thankful for all of my What ifs; I've just learned to not let the ones tinged with regret take control.

Lastly, do me a favor: 1) Listen to this song. I will preface it by saying that it is the most beautiful, yet saddest, and yet strangely uplifting song I've ever heard. 2) Think about the What ifs in your own life, both kinds. 3) Make changes so that the potential outcomes match your hopes and wishes.

Fill your days with love and joy, not regret. Don't miss out on right now.

Food & Memory

The photo says "Summer" without me adding any additional words.  This afternoon, I began reading a new book, based on food and memory.  I love days like today where I have no real plans, and am able to sit outside in my Zero-Gravity Lounger, and often times read an entire book.  This one I picked up from the library this afternoon, immediately connected with the author (the specifics of why I connect, is a different post altogether), and was reminded of the power of memory.

I usually get up and stretch, take a bathroom break, and maybe get a snack every hour or so.  And just now- yes, I am on a break from reading RIGHT NOW- I looked into the fridge, saw that watermelon and that lime, and was taken back to the early summer of 1990. 

I was living in San Diego, working as a live-in nanny for a family with two young kids, and had met a guy at a concert I had attended by myself.  I was nineteen, and did things like that. I can't remember the name of the stadium, but the Swap Meet was held in the parking lot every weekend, and Tower Records was kitty-corner from it as well.  I think I had seen The Smithereens that night.  I met a very sexy, very charming guy named Enrique (I am not making that up), who had long, glossy black hair, a very cute smile, and an accent.  Being the teenaged bimbo I was, we totally made out and groped each other, then exchanged phone numbers before going our separate ways that night.

Fast forward a month or so, and we are a couple, and we are at his cousin's house in Anaheim one weekend for a family barbeque/pool party.  The beer and rum and vodka and grilled food and sun are all plentiful.  The afternoon lingers on, and- a bit drunk- I am walking barefoot around the pool, and step on a glass shard from a broken beer bottle.  Enrique's brother, Cesar, sits me down and says "Alguien me traiga una lima."  He takes the lime wedge, and squeezes the juice directly on the cut.  "Para detener el sangrado."  The rest of the wedges were used to dress the slices of watermelon on the nearby food table. 

And then, people began taking the watermelon-with-lime-juice slices.  But before they ate them, they sprinkled them with salt.  I had never seen this before, and I guess it showed on my face because Enrique said to me "Try it.  Its the perfect mix of sweet and sour and salty." 

And so I did.  And he was right.

This memory hit me like a ton of bricks, but in a good way.  Its going to make me wistful for the girl I was 20 years ago (if only for a few more hours) as I read my book in the light of the setting Summer sun, in the driveway of my rented dollhouse here in Michigan, where I'm hoping my daily life-and-food combinations become memories anew.

Smile, already!

Above image found here .

See? Even the birds have a reason to smile! Its the weekend, and around these parts the weather is going to be a huge improvement over the past week: sunny and mid-40's.

It'll be the perfect weather for me to pick up my running again after the past week of Feeling Crappy (see previous post). I've got other big plans, too: Turbo Tax is calling, the pile of stuff for Goodwill is blocking bathroom access upstairs, the one unfinished baby sweater arm is waving at me like a broken doll, and the only thing my laundry needs is a spark of lightning to bring it to life a la Frankenstein. So, running and other stuff on the docket, I guess!

Have a great weekend.